


Action and Reaction

by HyperKid



Series: Critter Gods [8]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Other, Post TravelerCon, Soft Feels, The godly showdown, VM Artagan would kick MN Artagan’s ass, done broke a perfectly good archfey is what you did, joke’s on you Artagan’s into that, mild spoilers for c2 e108, talking to yourself on a whole new level, the sheer majesty of Jester Lavorre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperKid/pseuds/HyperKid
Summary: It’s been a while since the Moonweaver has joined the other gods, but it’s not much of a surprise to see her with the events of Travelercon fresh in everyones’ mind. It’s not the first place Artagan looks, but it’s close.
Relationships: Artagan & Jester, Artagan/Jester, Mild Artagan/Sehanine, Old Artagan/Young Artagan, Patron & cleric, The Traveler & Jester
Series: Critter Gods [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1397104
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HK: This was just... pretty much required honestly.   
> Mollymauk: Any godly interaction?  
> HK: And all godly interaction, but this was very much one of my favourites.   
> Mollymauk: One of these days we’re gonna talk about your thing for bondage.   
> HK: It’s completely under control I have no idea what you’re talking about.   
> Mollymauk: Yes, and that’s the problem, I require more of it.   
> HK: ... I knew there were many reasons I love you. 
> 
> WARNINGS!! Mild sexual references? And lots of posturing 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one and Matt needs to stop camping out in my brain making me wanna smut all his characters.

Lost in thought as she made her way to the little divine hideaway she shared with the other gods of the Mighty Nein, the Wildmother was more than a little surprised to find the Moonweaver there waiting. She hadn’t been around much since the death of Mollymauk, busy with something that obviously concerned her but she wouldn’t talk about. 

Somewhat typical of a goddess of secrets. So it was certainly a shock to see her at their large table, a pot of tea ready made in front of her. 

“Sehanine?” The Wildmother asked, wondering for a moment if she could possibly be mistaken. Artagan had a strong love for fucking around, but not the power to deceive her. 

The Moonweaver gave her a calm smile and raised her cup of tea in greeting. 

“Melora. Are you looking for company?” 

A fair bet, since that was what this little neutral space was for. Much easier than trecking all the way to an official realm to find another god. 

Heading to grab her own cup from the dresser, Melora joined the other goddess at the table. 

“I was wondering if I’d find Artagan or Kord, but... well, none of us have expected you for a while. I believe Artagan was looking for you a little while ago, in relation to his own unfortunate circumstances. Did he find you?” She couldn’t imagine what else would bring Sehanine here. 

It wasn’t as though her Mollymauk had rejoined the group. 

Artagan’s little meet up had already happened of course, and they all knew what Sehanine’s reaction had been; the question was whether or not it had been planned. 

A dark smile tugged across the Moonweaver’s lips, full of satisfaction. 

“I found him, yes. That is part of why I dropped by.” There was something fondly amused in her voice, and just like that the pieces clicked. 

A broad grin stole across the Wildmother’s face and she headed straight back to the kitchen to prepare a large bowl of popcorn. 

“Do you know when he’ll be here?” She called over her shoulder, debating briefly between caramel and salt. 

Watching her with a grin of her own, Sehanine shrugged and took a sip of her tea. 

“Not to the hour, but I doubt it’ll take him much longer.” 

Where else would he be, with his convention winding down and some rather pressing unfinished business. 

** 

The Storm Lord joined them before Artagan, and took a seat beside the Wildmother on the couch to enjoy the show. When he finally showed his face Artagan looked a little surprised to see them both shovelling popcorn into their faces, but... 

Well, it was his unfinished business. 

He bestowed a dazzling smile on Sehanine, pointing to her recently refreshed pot of tea. 

“I hope I haven’t been keeping you waiting?” Everything in his posture screamed wariness, ready to run if the need arose. Not sure where he stood with her. 

The Moonweaver shook her head, a slight smile on her face as she gestured to the seat opposite her. 

“Had I wanted your company immediately, I’d have had it. I thought you might have some questions.” 

“I think I’d best start with an apology? Though I did notice you didn’t seem so much against the idea as annoyed by the framing,” Artagan pointed out with a roguish grin, sinking gracefully into the chair. Right on the edge. 

Sehanine shrugged, flicking a finger gracefully. The teapot rose, carefully pouring a second cup of tea. 

“You were winding down. I did notice, and while you certainly have no rights to my face... I’m not one to turn away such earnest supplicants.” 

Kord snorted a laugh and Melora elbowed him sharply to keep quiet. The two at the table ignored them except for a shared smile. 

Artagan inclined his head, fingers twirling accompaniment. 

“Then accept my most sincere apologies, and my thanks. I had no idea that being a god was so much work.” 

“We tried to tell you,” Melora cut in, receiving an elbow from Kord for the interruption. Artagan glanced over, then back to Sehanine. 

“Would you really have sent me back?” He asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure; their interactions had been far too limited. Just a few chance meetings while Mollymauk was with the Nein. 

The Moonweaver shrugged elegantly and took another sip. 

“Not for long. This realm is so much more... interesting with you in it. Besides, they will have more than enough to do without coming to try and rescue you.” 

Artagan smiled dryly, curling both hands around his mug and thinking back to his recent interactions with the Nein. 

“I don’t know that they’d have bothered coming. They’re not especially fond of me,” he said, raising his mug in a sarcastic toast. 

Sehanine chuckled softly and raised her own cup. 

“Perhaps not most of them on your own merits, but it’d take more than even my power to keep your tiefling from coming after you, and none of them would leave her.” 

That had the merit of being essentially inarguable at this point. Even Artagan had to agree, shrugging philosophically and downing his tea. 

“So what were you planning then?” He asked, an elegant brow arching. “Just to scare me?” 

“To see if you’d learned,” the Moonweaver corrected with a half smile, her cup still held just below her lips, “and maybe to correct a few assumptions in my new followers about just who they are actually dealing with.” 

“Showing them where the power lies?” Artagan asked, carelessly pouring himself another cup. 

If the lesson had been humility, he hadn’t even attempted to learn it. Every line of his body was still just as arrogant, as irreverent and unconcerned as he’d ever been. Still perched on the edge of his chair, as if running would do him any good. 

The Moonweaver’s smile spread and she shrugged, leaning back in her chair and spreading her hands. 

“I’m not adding a volcano dick pilgrimage to my calendar. This year,” she added after a moment’s thought. Like there was a chance she’d consider it for the future if necessary. 

An intriguing prospect, certainly, and one the archfey would ~absolutely~ be following up on later. When he was a little less physically reminded of their difference in power. 

Still, he had a few more pressing questions. 

“And if Jester hadn’t spoken up for me?” He asked softly, eyes fixed on hers. 

That she met his without a hint of concern was just another reminder; he sure as hell wasn’t going to try any archfey bullshit here. She knew it as well as he did. 

“If you hadn’t pushed her away, I’d have put you in timeout for a while. Maybe until they came to find you, maybe just a day or two. Something to remind you that if I did want you confined to your plane, you would be.” There was no pretence, no trace of hesitation or playing around the subject. 

She’d come here just to answer these questions, and it was an easy enough answer to give. As little as she’d expected it, Artagan had impressed her. He seemed visibly surprised now at the idea that his own actions, not Jester’s had changed her mine. 

“But because I... kicked her, you decided not to? Why?” He asked finally, even sounding stunned. 

Sehanine smiled and leaned forward again, setting down her cup and lacing her fingers in front of her face. 

“Because for the first time in your life, in all these centuries, you put someone else before yourself.” 

Artagan reeled back a little, slumping back in his chair as the words hit him. Whether it was the realization that he really had never given a shit a day in his life, or realizing that he did now was lost in the stunned confusion. 

He hadn’t thought about it at the time. Hadn’t given it a moment’s thought when Sehanine’s creature threatened to trap Jester with him. She’d hesitated, clutching him close, and he hadn’t glanced even a second past those wide lilac eyes. 

She’d have gone with him without question just a few short months ago, if he’d only let her. Just a few weeks, he wouldn’t have had to ask, not that it had been his choice. 

She might still have done it then if she’d had time to think, and there was no way in any of the realms that he’d allow that. 

For him, the Feywild was painfully boring. He knew all of its rules, all of its inhabitants, and his power there, fully realized? It put his “power“ as the Traveler to shame. 

And it was so full of the careful politics, that delicate talking around each other and never saying what you meant, the forced diplomacy as every part of the realm tried to eat you. Not in a million years would he subject Jester to that. Not even if it meant never seeing her again. 

He’d been interested in her because she was so delightfully straightforward. So wild and free, almost like a fey herself with her wicked sense of humour and her love of pranks. With not a second of the pretence, not a thought of power or hunger or hunt. She said things people wouldn’t even ~imagine~, utterly uncaring of decorum, or manners, or position. 

She was his, fiery and feisty and free, and he loved her like he’d never loved another. Even more than he loved himself, and he’d be the first to admit that that was a fair amount. 

The thought came easily, naturally, and it was only a moment later that it gave him pause. 

Love. 

Jester loved him, fiercely and passionately. He’d never bothered to question it, never doubted it since she was very young. 

And he loved her. His charge, his delightfully wicked student, his sweet cleric. Artagan couldn’t honestly say he’d ever loved another person before. If he’d ever acknowledged another being as a person at all. 

Perhaps that was why it had crept up on him; he had nothing to compare it to. He’d never had a cleric before, couldn’t meaningfully draw the line between where she’d stopped being a plaything. When she’d become someone whose happiness he valued. 

It was somewhat disorienting for a being thousands of years old to undergo such a radical change. At least now that he noticed it had happened. 

Whatever Sehanine saw in his face, her smile spread and she relaxed back in her chair once more, content to just watch him. This was the lesson she’d seen him learn in that moment of indecision. The reason behind the action that had saved him. 

If Jester had said she’d go with him, she would have. They’d have been separated of course, and she likely wouldn’t have the same wait before any release, but Sehanine would have taken her too. It was a relief not to have to use the sunshine bright tiefling as an object lesson. 

Artagan looked lost and confused as a child now, just staring blankly into his cup. Self involvement was the strongest curse of all archfey; not many ever learned to care about more delicate humans, elves, or other races. It was part of what made the Feywild so dangerous. 

The Moonweaver would quite enjoy watching Artagan through the rest of his journey, to see what could be done. Of course, not every archfey could find their own Jester Lavorre. It wasn’t likely to work twice. 

But if just one of the fucks could be persuaded not to play so hard they broke their toys, that’d be a win in her book. 

Finally Artagan’s head rose, meeting her gaze once more. This time there was none of the wariness, none of the caution, none of the carefully careless mask. His eyes narrowed just a little, tracking across her face. 

“And what do you want me to do now?” There would be something; that was what archfey and gods had in common (beyond that good old self importance). Nothing came for free. 

The Moonweaver shrugged, gesturing to her teapot. 

“I have someone I’d like you to explain this little revelation to. When next you fall asleep, I’ll send you a dream. Not a large price to pay given how many needy mortals I’ve just taken off your hands, hmm?” A delicate brow arched and Artagan smiled reluctantly. 

“Not so large,” he agreed, fingers curling around his cup once more. “And all I have to do is talk to them?” 

“Just one conversation. And when you wake, you will once again be free to wander as you wish. Until you next start another cult.” There was just a hint of a barb in the last sentence and Artagan’s smile spread to a grin, both hands raising to shoulder height. 

“No fear of that, I really have learned my lesson this time. Followers are far too much effort and no amount of power is worth all that ~whining~. I really don’t know how you do it.” 

“It helps to care,” the Wildmother pointed out cheerfully, shaking her popcorn bucket as if that might make it less empty. Her being a goddess, it absolutely did and the Storm Lord stuck his fist in for another large handful. 

Artagan gave her a dazzling smile too, spreading his hands wide. 

“Ah, but listen to Sehanine! I do that now apparently. Totally reformed. All soft and sweet.” 

“Don’t push your luck,” the Moonweaver chuckled, setting her cup down and rising. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you now. Congratulations on a most successful convention, Artagan.” 

The archfey raised his own mug in toast, turning to keep her in sight as she left. 

“I suppose I’ll see you in my dreams. May I impose for one last request?” 

Sehanine paused in the doorway, glancing back with a brow raised. That last bit had sounded far too much like his normal, darkly playful self. Like things were going right back to how they were. 

She wasn’t against it. 

“Yes?” 

Artagan’s grin split to full wickedness. 

“Don’t chain me up again if you’re not going to follow through. I promise you I can beg very prettily, and I’ll make it worth your while,” he purred, batting his lashes and giving her his most winning smile. 

The Moonweaver snorted a laugh and turned away, raising a hand to wave. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Artagan.” 

“Well that’s another way to put it,” the archfey mused, slumping back in his seat and turning to face the other two. “And what about you? Would you have sprung to my defence?” 

“And interrupted something you wanted finished?” Melora teased, taking another large handful of popcorn. The show was probably over for the moment; it hadn’t been especially dramatic. 

Just a little disappointing, although Artagan had tried. 

Kord grinned beside her, settled comfortably into his seat. 

“I did warn you about causing trouble,” he pointed out cheerfully. Not especially repentant, but then it wasn’t like he’d expected Artagan to take his advice. 

For a moment, the archfey considered being offended. But he just... wasn’t a combative person. There was no point in holding a grudge, not when that energy could be used for far more fun and creative things. 

Friends who would stand against gods for you were rare indeed, and until he’d met Jester Lavorre he wouldn’t have counted a single one in the billions he’d met over the years. No point ruining an entertaining set of relationships just because he’d skipped a little too far. 

No point asking anyone to join sides when he and Sehanine seemed to have settled things amicably. Besides, he still needed someone to kibitz about the Mighty Nein with. 


	2. Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artagan has to have a rather difficult conversation... with himself. Vox Machina Artagan may well want to kick Mighty Nein Artagan’s ass, but he doesn’t have Jester on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HK: This was inspired purely by a lovely shitpost on twitter and run away with by my penchant for introspection and lore!  
> Mollymauk: And your personal interest in perverting the phrase “go fuck yourself”.   
> HK: *snickering* As often as possible. An archfey that gives a shit about someone not themself is a very rare phenomenon!   
> Mollymauk: I think people seem to expect him to be human.   
> HK: Honestly, someone even said to me “it’s not that I don’t trust him” when we were arguing about Beau and Fjord’s bullshit. He’s an archfey! That’s the actual *only* reason not to trust him!   
> Mollymauk: Disney has a lot to answer for.   
> HK: Disney and bath bombs. Before you know it humanity’s lost all instincts for how to deal with the Feywild - assume that ~literally everything~ is going to try to eat you.   
> Mollymauk: But at least there’s some who remember! It’s all built into the game.   
> HK: And so is playing with feelsy archfey! I’m never gonna be over it.   
> Mollymauk: Just another thing we have in common. 
> 
> WARNINGS!! Sexual references, swearing, Tension™️ 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one but it’s so nice to see Matt on the same page about Artagan. Bitch just needs to have fun.

Artagan considered hiding. Considered not falling asleep, not for as long as he could manage. For an archfey, that could be quite some time. 

But... 

Well, he was beginning to trust that Sehanine hadn’t intended him specific harm, but he wasn’t about to test her patience. Finding himself somewhere safe and secluded, he set up every protection he could think of that wouldn’t block her and set himself to rest. 

When he found himself in a realm of pitch darkness, he had to give her points for flare. 

“Alright,” he mused slowly, looking around and seeing nothing at all, not even a floor beneath his feet, “this is better than a volcano. Clearly I also need tips on style.” 

It could almost have been the astral sea, it was so utterly devoid of anything. But there was none of the chill of the void around him. It felt rather like the room he’d gone to bed in, just... empty. And then he turned back and came face to face with himself. 

For a long moment the two archfey just... stared at each other. 

As the shock wore off, Artagan’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a few subtle differences. The answer clicked into place almost audibly and he smiled. 

Ah. 

Yes. 

He remembered this conversation. 

This was his younger self, not so long after he’d spent a stint as Garmelie and met Vox Machina for the first time. Barely a year or so before he’d regained his freedom. He could see why Sehanine wanted him to have a word. 

As if he’d change so easily. 

His smile spreading, Artagan reclined carefully back until he was seated, whatever power that kept him upright easily accepting his weight. 

“You know, I know Sehanine believes I like the sound of my own voice, but this may be taking things a little far.” 

Still visibly suspicious, the younger archfey’s eyes narrowed as he tracked every inch of the other’s face. Artagan let most of his masks drop. No reason not to be accommodating. 

Finally the younger nodded stiffly. May as well call him Junior, Artagan decided with a soft chuckle. It wasn’t like either of them were going to bother using their own name aloud. 

“Talking to oneself is usually less effort. And why has the Moonweaver brought us together?” The turn of phrase made both pause and Artagan snickered. 

“There are going to be far too many masturbation jokes here if we start,” he noted and was pleased to see Junior’s face break into a smile too. A wicked grin actually, giving his older self the first trace of acknowledgement. 

He hadn’t changed all that much. 

“True. But I assume you know it was Sehanine?” Junior asked again, watching himself carefully. “Have... I begun spending time with her?” 

That made Artagan chuckle softly, especially with his recent difficulty tracking her down at all. 

“Oh not remotely. But I do owe her a favour, and it seems what she wants is for me to share my wisdom.” 

He could fucking ~see~ his younger self turning that around for at least a dozen innuendos before reluctantly cutting himself off. They’d be there all night, possibly give into the temptation and fuck, and never get to what Sehanine wanted. 

It was tempting. 

Junior nodded slowly, adjusting his position until he was sitting as well. 

“And what did I do to get into the debt of the Moonweaver?” He asked, just a little intrigue curling his smile. 

Artagan knew what’d be on his mind; escape from the Feywild. That wouldn’t come from Sehanine no matter what his younger self thought, but it wouldn’t be long. 

Time to tell himself that later. Artagan settled himself more comfortably and steepled his fingers. 

“She took a lot of rather pesky mortals off my hands. It all began with throwing dicks into a volcano.” 

Junior sat up a little, his grin spreading. 

“Oh, this is going to be an interesting story,” he declared cheerfully and Artagan gave him an indulgent smile. 

“Listen to your elders. Until very recently I was also a god.” 

Both elaborate brows rose at that and Junior waved a hand quickly for him to continue. It was possible he had access to more of their power, since his body at least was still in the Feywild, but Artagan couldn’t imagine either of them would have any power here. They didn’t have a bloody floor. 

Satisfied that he wouldn’t be interrupted again, Artagan hummed thoughtfully and continued. 

“Well, I suppose this really started when I found a little blue tiefling girl on the prime material plane.” 

As expected, Junior straightened further, almost itching with need. Their imprisonment had been awfully chafing and Artagan could fully sympathise. Not that he was going to give the game away. 

“I taught her some tricks, and she decided I was her god. Faithfully enough that she began to develop clerical powers, in fact. And that gave me quite a delightful little rush, so I didn’t correct her. And then I began to acquire followers.” 

“Doesn’t having followers require rather a lot of dealing with people?” Junior interrupted, and Artagan paused again. 

This might be why some people found talking to him frustrating. 

It was definitely at least a little funny when put like that. 

Giving his younger self an indulgent smile, he nodded and waved a hand airily. 

“Oh, it did. I assumed it wouldn’t need to be all that much, given how the actual gods manage it, but there’s a degree of leading them to faith and then dealing with prayer.” 

And his younger self actually snickered, resting a chin on his hand and grinning at him. 

“That sounds rather a lot like responsibility. I thought we were desperate to leave the Feywild to avoid nonsense like that?” He prodded teasingly and Artagan smirked back. 

Fuck what anyone else said, ~he~ liked him. 

“Absolutely. But you see, it also gave me rather a lot of power, and a kind that I’ve not had before. Besides, look me in the eye and try and tell me we don’t adore the attention,” he added pointedly. 

Junior gave it a spirited attempt before dissolving into more snickering. 

“Alright. Then why, I assume, did you then foist them all off on Sehanine?” 

Artagan considered him for a long moment, grin still playing across his lips. 

“Because you’re right, of course, it was an awful amount of responsibility hearing all those damn prayers and it got on my tits. But the power and the attention was lovely before we hit the hundreds.” 

“Hundreds?” Junior asked, both brows rising again. Even looking at his own face, Artagan wasn’t quite sure if he was impressed or disgusted. 

It wasn’t a huge amount of people for followers of a god, but it was a fucking lot for prayers every day. 

“A few dozen is manageable, most of them didn’t need me often enough to get in the way of my day to day plans.” 

“Why didn’t you just... drop them directly into the volcano? Or ignore them until they died?” Junior asked impatiently, and Artagan actually hesitated. 

Alright, he’d dropped by to ask something very similar of Kord and Melora more than once in his bitching leading up to Travelercon. He’d fielded the exact same question from Jester several times. But having to explain it to himself... 

He really hadn’t noticed how fundamental this change was. 

Shaking his head he sighed, waving a hand. 

“Because even though I tired of them, I wasn’t going to kill them. Most of them were chosen personally by me and I was fond of them,” he tried to explain, watching the other’s face for a hint of understanding. 

Junior looked entirely blank. 

Artagan rolled his eyes and tried again. 

“I don’t have to just kill people when they become inconvenient to me.” 

“But you can,” Junior pointed out, a brow slowly rising, “so why don’t you? Hells, why not just ignore them? Block them out, why put yourself in debt to the Moonweaver? Guide them into a deep pit or just tell them to fuck off. It’s hardly like we care what others think of us.” 

Pressing thumb and forefinger to his temple, Artagan drew in a deep breath. It wasn’t so much that he was frustrated with his younger self; that would have been much easier. It was the stark reflection of just how much had changed these past twenty years. 

He didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t know why he hadn’t just dropped his followers, shoved his more annoying ones into a pit, or just left them alone to grow tired of waiting. He just... couldn’t. 

“I had a responsibility to them,” he tried to explain, and almost laughed as Junior visibly cringed. He hadn’t fucking liked it either. 

“Isn’t that precisely what we wanted to avoid by reaching the prime material plane?” Junior asked sceptically. 

Hearing it said aloud, in his own voice no less, hammered home what Sehanine had said about him. He had... changed. More in the last two decades than in centuries before. And he knew exactly how it had happened and couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

A grin spread across Artagan’s face and he shook his head. 

“That would be why I gave them up, yes. But to someone else to care for them.” He’d have loved to say that it wasn’t much extra work, but frankly, the effort of getting everyone on fucking boats still rankled. Luckily it wasn’t his job to get them all home. 

Fucking druids never stuck around. 

Junior still looked decidedly unconvinced, which just meant that he was perfectly set up for Artagan’s idea. Glancing around, he had to assume that Sehanine was at least watching them, if not actually present. Perhaps they could manage a little something more. 

“Moonweaver, is there a chance we could have Jester join us?” He called to the air at large. 

Immediately Junior was on edge again, both able to feel the accompanying swell of power. 

“What is the jester?” He asked suspiciously, immediately looking around. 

Assuming that his request had been granted, Artagan settled himself back in his seat with a broad smile. 

“Jester is why we don’t just kill people when they’re inconvenient, though admittedly not because she disapproves. It’s really much simpler to show you.” 

He had the great pleasure of watching his own face get more and more wary as power rose around them, focusing on a point equidistant between the two of them. For a moment he wondered if she’d fade into view, or perhaps appear in a shower of sparkles. 

Apparently Sehanine wasn’t in a showy mood tonight, since one moment there was nothing and the next there was simply Jester. She took a moment to look around, her face lighting up as it always did when she saw him. Then she caught sight of Junior, paused for a moment, then gasped. 

“Oh there’s two of you! That’s not just a duplicate is it!” She squealed excitedly, then paused for a moment and patted herself down. Artagan had to assume that like him, she was wearing what she’d gone to bed in; normal travelling clothes but no armour. This didn’t seem to be what she’d expected because she promptly shrugged and grinned back at the pair of archfey. “Is this going to be a sexy dream?” 

Still decidedly cautious, though probably only Artagan himself would notice, Junior looked from one to the other. 

“She can tell us apart?” He asked his counterpart, not quite taking his eyes off the tiefling yet. There was a hint of smile on his face though. Jester Lavorre always made an impression. 

“She is the cat’s mother,” Artagan said a little pointedly, nodding to redirect the younger’s focus back onto Jester herself. Really, he had no manners. Not that it was a bad question. “How can you tell us apart, my dear?” 

“Your duplicates usually wear the same clothes you do,” Jester pointed out with a snicker, leaning in and almost overbalancing when that moved her closer. She steadied herself quickly, looking from one to the other with a broad grin. 

“Besides, you look like I’m going to bite you,” she added with a nod to Junior, her grin becoming sly as she glanced at Artagan, “and like you won’t enjoy it.” 

Junior was visibly surprised by the revelation, his eyes narrowing just a little. He’d thought he’d covered his tension rather well, but then... this tiefling obviously knew one of him reasonably well. 

“I take it you’re someone I met on the prime material plane?” He asked, arms folded across his chest. As soon as he noticed he was doing it he had to fight the urge to jolt them open. He didn’t like feeling transparent. 

Jester didn’t seem to notice, just grinning happily at him. 

“Oooooh, are you Artie from before we met? That’s so cool! Hiiiii!” She waved enthusiastically and Artagan had to stifle a laugh.

“She was my first student, weren’t you dear Jester?” He explained to his old self, giving his cleric an indulgent smile. “She’s learned so much.” 

A light flush stained the tiefling’s cheeks faintly purple and she squirmed for a moment, still grinning. 

“Awww, thank you! I can raise the dead now,” she told Junior happily, tugging her holy symbol from the end of its chain to show him. 

The younger Artagan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. 

“A cleric? How the fuck did we get a cleric? I’d understand a warlock, but...” 

“Your guess is as good as mine there,” Artagan said with a sigh, shaking his head theatrically. None of which did anything to diminish his grin. 

“You told me you were a god,” Jester explained in a stage whisper, and paused when Artagan cleared his throat. Sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, you didn’t tell me you weren’t a god,” she corrected, waving a hand dismissively. “Same difference.” 

“You jumped to a conclusion that amused me. I have said I’m sorry,” he added more gently, and watched Junior shy back like he didn’t recognise him anymore. 

But Jester laughed, and managed to get herself close enough to spill into his lap. 

“I know. And I’m totally not mad at you or anything. Anymore. So, why’s this guy here? This doesn’t really feel like a dream-dream,” she added with a grin that turned suddenly wicked, glancing between her archfey and suddenly Artagan just ~had~ to know the kinds of dreams she’d been having. 

Probably nothing too different from his own initial thoughts. They could get to that later, provided Sehanine didn’t evict the lot of them from this little dreamspace when the talk was done. 

She liked watching, they had at least a small chance. 

For now, he gave Jester a light tap on the nose and smiled at Junior. 

“Behave, darling. At least for a minute more. The Moonweaver has asked me to show my younger self here just what lessons I’ve learned since leaving the Feywild, and of course I could hardly explain that without you.” 

Watching the playful pout melt into soft, gentle, genuine delight that made something tighten in Artagan’s chest. He’d never seen Jester quite so happy, so touched by his words. It was better even than her adulation when she thought him a god. 

He’d gotten ~so~ ~fucking~ ~SOFT~. 

But it didn’t feel bad. He liked soft things, like blankets and clothes and kittens. Soft like his Jester, beaming up at him like a sunrise. And then that soft smile turned deliciously wicked as she looked back across at Junior. 

“Does he know about the things I can do with my tail?” She asked ever so innocently, startling a laugh from the younger archfey. 

“Alright, I’m starting to see why you like her,” Junior told his older self, attention immediately flicking back to Jester when said tail rose to flick away a strand of her hair. “You seem fun. But not so fun as to put up with all this... responsibility I’m telling me about. I was told you’re why we didn’t just kill them all?”

There was a blank moment while Jester parsed the pronouns, then grinned up at Artagan. 

“I said that a while back, didn’t I?” She asked with just a hint of nostalgia. Artagan grinned and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“You did. And you learned why not to as well, didn’t you?” He prodded gently. 

Jester scrubbed at her nose and grinned up at him, rolling onto her back in his lap. A delicate blue finger reached up and gently booped his nose in return. 

“Yeah. There was like, a whole island of people who forgot who they were, and that they had lives and families and things,” she added, rolling sideways to look at Junior. “It was really sad. And they thought they were worshipping this god, this Vokodo guy, but he was just a really big squid from the astral plane, and he kept them all prisoner!” 

Junior’s brows furrowed as he considered the story, clearly unsure about something. Artagan had a pretty good idea what he was likely doing; working out where it was his problem. 

“My initial plan was to allow any of my followers who happened to fall under his spell to remain and live out a happy life in his little village,” he explained with a slight smile, glancing down at Jester. “Of course, it was a bad plan.” 

Mouth already open to speak, Jester huffed softly and snuggled in. 

“It’s not cool to make people forget where they came from,” she grumbled, fingers tangling in his travelling cloak. Holding on just a little tighter than he’d expect. “People will miss them.” 

“Enough for it to be unacceptable,” Artagan agreed, watching his counterpart closely. Trying to see if he’d gotten it yet. 

Junior mostly just looked baffled now, but he’d stopped arguing. There were only so many ways to ask “but why should I care” before it started feeling redundant. It had to be enough that both declared he did, and watching the two together, it had to be obvious that they were close. 

Artagan found his hand drifting idly to Jester’s hair, stroking through those soft curls. 

“Perhaps you should show him your sketchbook?” He suggested, and two sets of pointed ears pricked up. He’d have laughed if he wanted to really piss Junior off; they were just adorable. 

Meanwhile Jester rocketed up off his lap, beaming at Junior and patting herself down for the sketchbook she always carried. 

“Ooooh, yeah! It’s how I tell you everything that’s been going on and what I’ve been doing and all that stuff!” Book retrieved, she flicked through eagerly from front to back, stopping at a page near the beginning. 

The book was getting full now. She’d been on the road a long time; she’d need another one soon. Artagan made a mental note to treat her to something really special. A little apology for all he’d put her through. 

And, unselfconscious as the child she’d been, Jester plopped herself down almost in Junior’s lap to show him her sketches. 

“These are from when I pretended to be my mom and locked a guy on the balcony in her underwear. I’m pretty sure he’s still got a price on my head but it might be bigger now because I saw him again and I locked him on another balcony at a really big party and left him there.” 

Looking over the sketches, an almost fond smile spread even across Junior’s face. Long, elegant fingers sketched the dramatically caricatured figure, complete with knocking knees and clown makeup. 

“I can see our influence,” he mused with a soft chuckle. The look he cast Jester next was... Artagan had to imagine that it had graced his face the first time he’d met her as well. 

Something curious, interested, watching her like an intriguing piece of enchantment or a new toy. Like something he could pick apart and put back together to see what she’d do. 

Jester flipped blithely through the rest of the book, pausing on the more important sketches and narrating most of her journeys since she’d left Nicodranas. Her illustration of what she’d done to the Platinum Dragon’s temple in Zadash drew a chuckle, as did her portraits of various noble figures in compromising positions. 

It was interesting to watch, knowing each and every sketch as he did. To see his own face from the outside, quickly becoming embroiled in his charming pupil. He’d had a moment of worry that Junior would consider Jester a threat; that the change she’d clearly wrought in him would be too undesirable. 

But of course, that would imply there was a single possible version of Artagan that didn’t love that little imp of mischief in Jester’s heart. It’d practically be against his nature. Something so sweet, so funny, so irreverent could only catch the archfey’s eye. 

Time, always so unreal in dreams, seemed to stretch for hours as Jester displayed her sketchbook, and then Junior accommodatingly shared his own. Artagan was quite sure Jester had seen most of them before, but she still giggled in delight at every one. It felt like hours but might only have been minutes until they were chatting like old friends. 

It wasn’t so much a voice as a gentle feeling that pulled them to a stop. Just a gentle tug at Jester’s elbow, a light shake that must have been on her real body. Time to wake up. 

The tiefling huffed the most dramatic sigh imaginable, lower lip sticking out in a deliberate pout as she looked around for the Moonweaver. 

“Oh, do I have to go? We haven’t even done the orgy yet.” 

All three definitely heard the soft chuckle of laughter at that, and an almost glowingly deep blue hand held itself out to her. Sighing again Jester took it and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. 

“You guys need to work out how she did this so we can do it again,” she informed her archfey with a devious grin. Not exactly surprised she’d gotten to exactly the same place she had, Artagan rose with her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“Believe me, it’s in the plan,” he told her gently, smiling to see her cheeks flush in a happy purple. She returned the kiss and turned to plant one on the top of Junior’s head, decidedly the only one still seated. 

“Until next time!” She called happily, waving even as her body began to fade. 

It was probably approaching morning, wherever they were in the real world. Artagan wondered for a moment how he’d leave this space; he had no companions who’d bother to rouse him. But as soon as he had the thought he knew the answer. 

As soon as he wanted to go, the Moonweaver would return them. Which probably meant that he’d done as much as she desired, which was nice to know. Not that he’d object to doing this again of course.

Junior was watching him, a crooked smile on those too familiar lips.

“Now, I’m hardly one to judge myself,” he said airily the second he was sure he had Artagan’s attention, redirecting his gaze to his nails, “but you fucked your student. The one you’ve known since her early childhood.” A sharp glance from the corner of his eye, a sly grin, and Artagan knew he’d be watching for any weakness. 

He shrugged instead, letting an easy grin cross his face. 

“It wasn’t intended, I assure you. Unfortunately, among the other things I taught Jester was to always make a play for the things that she wants.” 

“Unfortunately?” The other asked, ever sharp, and Artagan snickered. 

“Unfortunately for propriety,” he corrected, “but very fortunately for us. I have never expressed my own interest, and it is only ever at her direct request, but... she is wonderfully creative.” He let his smile grow lewd, remembering several of Jester’s more creative ideas. 

Junior made a soft sound of interest, rising elegantly to his own feet. 

“Something to look forward to,” he noted with a chuckle of his own, and abruptly Artagan’s expression hardened. He snatched the other’s wrist in a firm grip and for the first time Junior was obviously startled. Fear danced for just a moment in vibrant green eyes as Artagan glared himself down. 

“Not for you. You will not guide her to this, or try to groom her into it.” His voice was cold and harsh as steel as he continued, almost as burning as iron itself as his grip tightened on the other’s wrist. “Only. Ever. At her request. And you will do your all to dissuade her first. She is not. A. Toy.” 

The vehemence of feeling was enough to surprise even him, and he didn’t doubt for even a moment that he would stop even himself from being a danger to Jester. By whatever means necessary. 

Archfey were creatures of whim and whimsy, with very little in the way of impulse control once they came into their power. Little in the way of any control. Powerful emotions ruled them, instant and capricious and quick to change, but always overwhelming. 

It was what had made Saundor so terribly corrosive once hatred took hold. In the Feywild, the emotions of archfey often warped the very plane around them. The Prime Material Plane, disconnected from most of his power, had almost made Artagan forget just how deeply a twist to anger could rule him. 

He did not like anger. 

Not conflict, or aggression, those were most amusing in others and he could reliably turn them into whatever he wished. But he wasn’t a fighter. Wasn’t one often moved by anger of his own. 

Hells, he hadn’t been touched by rage since his initial imprisonment in the Feywild so long ago. Long enough to be a distant memory for even his younger self, still watching him with naked alarm. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Artagan smiled. Let the anger pass. Released his grip on the other’s arm, and gave him space. 

“Jester is a precious creature,” he said more calmly, watching Junior pull himself together in return, “as you will learn. Her time in the worlds of the living will be short. Every single moment with her is something to cherish for as long as they last. She... feels everything, down to her core.” 

And for the first time in a long time, he struggled for words. For the appropriate way to make the other understand just how important Jester was. How special, how interesting, how delightful. 

That she was a real, proper, complete person, in just the same way that they themselves were. 

It wasn’t something many archfey bothered to contend with. 

Though watching the way he was now watching himself, caution and wariness replacing fear, even covered with a veneer of calm, perhaps he didn’t need to. Perhaps actions more than words would get the message across. 

Realizing he was done, Junior cleared his throat and adjusted his robes, pulling on a sly smile for his older self. 

“It seems I’ll have an interesting time once I break our imprisonment,” he noted with just a hint of a chuckle. Artagan smiled back easily, temper gone as quickly as it had risen. 

“Much to look forward to,” he agreed, setting his own clothing to rights. For a moment both paused, matching gazes considering whether it’d be worth testing the Moonweaver’s patience to take a tumble right there. 

It’d be fun to have an answer for the many, many times Artagan was regularly told to go fuck himself. 

“Next time,” Junior said finally, shaking his head. “We are working out how to do this ourselves?” 

“I will be,” Artagan promised with a low laugh. “It’s much more interesting than a duplicate.” 

And again that wicked, foxlike smile stole across his own features as Junior eyed him. 

“Make sure you have something interesting to show me. I’d hate to think I’ve been slacking.” 

“I’ll have something for that smart mouth,” Artagan teased and Junior laughed, glancing around them for a hint of the Moonweaver. 

“Until then,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

Not bothering to wait for the other to fade, Artagan nodded back, already reaching for the feel of silk sheets and pillows under him. To return to his own body. 

He might have to take a leaf out of Jester’s wizard’s book. Visit a library. Or at least find a pretty, pliant mortal to do the dull work for him. 

Caleb himself could probably be persuaded; the human had an interest in time. 

Happy that the future was once again flush with possibilities, Artagan found his eyes opening slowly to the sumptuous room he’d gone to sleep in. A slow smile curled his lips and he took a moment to stretch, arching against the sheets and sending pillows tumbling all around him.

He wasn’t quite sure that it wasn’t Sehanine who’d done him the favour anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HK: This is probably the end, and now I have so much more feelsy nonsense and heavy Dom/sub to play with since I’ve caught up to Caleb’s tower. Thaaaaat’s gonna be a multi month project but someone needs to pull that poor boy out of his own head.

**Author's Note:**

> HK: This will have a second chapter or a sequel eventually to contain the dreeeeeeeeam *wiggly fingers* People on Twitter may have a hint what this is about and I’m very excited.


End file.
